


Five Unfortunate Things That Never Happened to Luna

by cordialcount



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Game Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Extremely Minimal Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordialcount/pseuds/cordialcount
Summary: An Oracle must bear her burdens alone.





	1. The Scourge

Luna forgets how healthy humans look. 

In quarantine, only hope—or its drained shell—shines through. Daemons vary, almost refreshingly, should she receive the victims too late to prevent transformation: wingspans, maddening shapes, color and corrugation of skin and outgrown bone. How many more trident-strikes they take to end.

_A favor_ , she asks Gentiana. Under her robes the Messenger is a bud-blue light, pristine as sculpture, cut away from human frailty like an arrowhead from stone. 

Empathy is the healer's staff, said the queen, but the Oracle must be made in the Astrals' image. How can Luna tend the flock?


	2. Niflheim

Ravus drags up her sleeve. "What have they done?" he snarls.

Tiredness flicks into her like knives. He needs her untouchable, a memento vivere; in Lunafreya's name he can be reassured slaughtering his countrymen is just. Unwittingly, he has made her complicit. No daughter of Tenebrae should hope for bases to weed out its native blooms—yet, in the airless shafts wormed beneath her home, she cracks. Please stop setting him up to fail. Please stop.

"What you were told to do was impossible," Luna says, tucking her hands into his hair. "What I am asked to bear is not."


	3. The Covenants

**Cosmogony, Redacted**

ASCEND a mountain, icefall, or lamppost. A nice oxygen supply would prevent you duly cowering for the divine. CARRY heart and soul. You'll find the former heavier and the latter much lighter. This illustrates the principle of cosmic balance. DRAW blood. It's critical you avoid nasty weeny infections in there, even if you've been imprisoned for ten or a thousand years consuming nothing but. SING the song of Etro, which I'm sure she made so long to spite—ah, exquisite, the Graleans do train one so thoroughly in the art of singing for death.

Wouldn't you just love a repeat?


	4. Ardyn

The MTs frogmarch her through a series of claustrophobic rooms, each with one poor creature inside. 

"You should greet your in-laws," Ardyn says. "Shall we call them, ah, my personal daemons?" He smiles. Waiting is worse than contact; her shoulder hovers under his welcome, as if Damocles under the sword. "And dearest, do eat your cookie first. The tonberries have such delicate sensibilities." 

They shuffle up, drooping to the tail, but they burn. She is a light that cannot dim. 

(Worse for Ardyn to lock her in with nothing at all. He's testament the Scourge curdles less permanently than faith.)


End file.
